


A Hogwarts Tale

by jessicadamien



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicadamien/pseuds/jessicadamien
Summary: When Charles Dickens was Apparated into the world of Harry Potter, he seemed to have found Snape first.





	1. Chapter 1

Preface

I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant,

C.D.  
December, 1843

\--Charles Dickens

Prologue

Severus hurried past the battle, dodging spells and seeking to hide from one and all. He’d been summoned by his master to the Shrieking Shack, and the nervous throbbing of the pulse in his throat threatened to cut off his breath. He concentrated on keeping the Disillusionment Charm active. The Dark Lord would not accept injury, or even death, as an excuse for missing this meeting.

As he passed by the shouting and hexing wizards and witches, he strove to predict what the Dark Lord had on his mind. Glancing about the battlefield that was once the peaceful grounds of Hogwarts, he was dismayed not to spot Potter. He would die before delivering him to the Dark Lord, but what else could the evil wizard want now? He must have known Severus would better serve fighting against those of the Order, but the stinging pain on his left arm had been urgent.

He neared the Whomping Willow and used his wand to tickle the spot which allowed him access to the hidden entrance to the tunnel. He slowed his forward movement slightly as he walked down the long passageway, not wishing to appear breathless before Voldemort. Mentally taking a count of the fallen wizards and witches he’d seen on his way in, he hoped the numbers would put the Dark Lord in better spirits. This was the worst time to have to deal with a frustrated, angry Dark wizard.

He entered the Shack, dropping his Disillusionment Charm when he saw that the cause for the war was directly in front of him. He was sitting at the end of the table, looking calm. Severus knew that look to be deceiving, and he glanced up to see Nagini coiled up, resting in an enchanted cage, seemingly unsupported by anything, and right above the table. He glanced back at the Dark Lord, and as he moved to kneel to him, Voldemort raised his bloodless hand to stop him.

“It’s the wand, Severus,” he said. “I believe I finally reasoned out why it doesn’t work properly for me.”

“But, my lord, you’ve done extraordinary things with it. How can you not say it works properly?”

“It works like any ordinary wand, and I am the extraordinary factor in it all. But do you know why the wand doesn’t work for me?”

 _It’s because you’re not the rightful owner, you idiot._ Severus schooled his features to show nothing of his thoughts. There was only one way for the Dark Lord to become the rightful owner, and as Severus--Dumbledore’s murderer--was that current owner, no good could come of this meeting.

Severus locked his knees to keep them from shaking, and forced himself to look directly into the lusterless, maniacal eyes of his erstwhile master. He knew it might be the last thing he would see in life, and mentally braced himself for the attack.

It came from above, and he looked up, horrified, to see Nagini in her enchanted cage swooping down upon him. He felt the unutterable pain as her fangs sank into his flesh, felt his life force begin to ebb from his body. He felt the floor coming up to meet him, and he fell, spent, what little energy he had left causing his body to tremble. His vision was hazy as he watched Voldemort walk away from the room without a backward glance, his murderous serpent encaged and floating behind him.

He tried ineffectually to stop the flow of blood, but even as he flailed about, he knew it was useless. He was not going to survive this. His eyes drifted upward, staring at nothing, until suddenly, Harry Potter’s face appeared before him. Not wasting his thoughts on wondering how this was so, he grasped with bloody hands at Potter’s robes, pulling him closer.

His voice gurgled out on his last breaths. “Take...it...Take...it...”

Granger, bless her always-industrious mind, had conjured a flask with which Potter began collecting the silvery-blue memories that seeped out of Snape. When he pulled the flask away, stoppering it, Snape struggled to speak again.

“Look...at...me...” The last thing he saw was a copy of the eyes he’d loved all his life. Then his own eyes glazed over, and the hand gripping Potter’s robes fell away...


	2. Stave I: Albus Dumbledore's Ghost

STAVE I: Albus Dumbledore’s Ghost

Dumbledore was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. This must be understood, if any of the wondrous things to follow can be appreciated. Dumbledore was dead.

Severus Snape lay on the dirty, and now bloody floor of the Shrieking Shack and remembered that terrible night on the Astronomy Tower. Though he couldn’t claim surprise, the emotions that overcame him that night had almost been his undoing. He’d fought to tamp down the dismay, the hurt, the guilt, and the inexplicable rage that consumed him, and had forced himself to utter those horrifying words, “Avada Kedavra.”

Though the rest of the wizarding world thought him incapable of it, the hurt and guilt remained to this day. Albus had ignored his pleas for respite from this dark deed, had played upon his sense of logic and loyalty to accomplish what he deemed necessary for The Greater Good.

_Damn the wizard._ As if Snape hadn’t already had enough guilt to contend with, Albus had saddled him with the task of furthering The Plan.

As if the depressing thoughts were enough to conjure up his spirit, Albus’ filmy ghost materialized in the same doorway Voldemort had just passed through after unleashing the serpent upon Severus. He forced his eyes to focus, waiting for Albus to guide him through to the bright light that must lead him to the beginning of his afterlife.

As Albus took his bloody time coming nearer, Severus had time to think about his regrets. His most recent regrets, other than answering the summons of the Dark Lord a few moments ago, were the events of the past year.

He groaned inwardly. All he’d wanted was the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Master. Was that so much to ask? He’d had one aborted year at it, and suddenly he was running the whole school. Although he had to remind the Carrows of it regularly, he had, in fact, been in charge.

As much as Voldemort would let him be in charge of anything.

Just when he had needed his strength the most, the energy required to keep all those remarkably obtuse children under control, protect them from the Carrows, and still report like clockwork to the Dark Lord had all kept him from relishing the position as he should. Surely, things had not been so difficult during Albus’ reign.

As Albus’ finer features began to fill out, Severus managed to lift himself on one elbow. He ignored the sticky, bloody mess and narrowed his eyes, looking behind Albus to see what that loud, eerie noise was. It was the rattling of chains, as though those chains were being dragged over a rough and inhospitable walkway. Snape lay there, disbelieving, as the chains came closer.

Severus backed away in alarm. There was something different about Albus, quite different than he’d seemed in all those portrait-chats where he’d offered guidance and support throughout Severus’ ordeal as headmaster and loyal member of the Order.

“The venom must have had some sort of hallucinogenic draught in it,” he told himself. “What I’m seeing now is simply an aftereffect of the poison.”

He’d almost convinced himself he was imagining the whole incident, when, as he watched, the shape became more and more pronounced, until the white, wispy form walked toward him, its robes trailing long and shapeless on the floor, until it was seated across from where Severus lay, and reclined on the chair nearest him.

Severus fell back to the floor, smirking at the apparition before him. “Really, Albus, wasn’t that a bit dramatic, even for you?”

“Don’t mock me, Severus,” the spectre warned him. “I come with grave news.”

“You could be more gravy than grave,” Severus chided him. “You could be a bit of undigested beef, left behind from dinner. Perhaps the repulsive pumpkin juice is warring with the potatoes.”

“I will be heard,” Albus broke in, “whether or not you will listen. I have but this one chance to warn you of what’s to come, and to offer advice before it’s too late for you.”

“Nonsense. You’ve breathed down my back every day I sat in your abandoned chair. You had every opportunity to offer me guidance, yet you chose to speak only of your wishes for that Potter boy. Why come to me in this fashion now, so melodramatic and ominous? And what are you wearing? It sounded dreadful coming down the hall.”

“I wear the chains I forged in life,” Albus answered. “You should get a peek at your own. Though you are many years my junior, I judge your chain’s length even now surpasses mine. It’s the heaviest burden you will ever know, Severus, and unless you heed my words, you’ll be spending your afterlife dragging it with you, on your many travels.”

“I don’t plan to travel, now that I’m dead,” Severus said waspishly. “I feel I’ve earned the right to rest in peace.”

“You have no choice in the matter. Everyone must travel while alive--the spirit must travel, to go beyond the boundaries of self. That your only travels took you to a woman who didn’t return your love only means you should have traveled further, and are now destined to travel in the afterlife.”

“What is the purpose of travel? Why shouldn’t I be left alone to eke out my existence as I see fit? All my life, others have been making my choices for me. The few times I chose on my own, the results were nothing but failure and heartbreak. Surely, the powers that be will realize I, of all people, must not travel.”

“My time grows short already, Severus, so hear me. You will be visited by three ghosts this night. The first as the chimes strike one, the next at two, and the last at three. Listen to the lessons they teach you. It’s your only chance to cast off this great chain before it’s too late.”

“I have no wish to be visited by three troublesome ghosts, Albus. Use your influence to keep them away. And why do they choose to annoy me, by the way? What meddlesome soul decided I should seek redemption?”

“It was my intervention, Severus. Allow an old wizard to feel remorse for all the hell I put you through. My intentions were nothing but good, but you see I’m on my way to hell, walking that paved road with my chains weighing me down. If I have any opportunity at all to let loose at least a few of these anchors, it will be if I can turn you away from the path you’re on.”

“Why not send all three at once, then? It couldn’t be any worse than dealing with Peeves, could it?”

“The first an hour from now, Severus...”

The voice faded away as did the white form, and Severus idly wondered where Albus’ normal sense of humor had gone. If he could make it back up to the office and studied the portrait there, would he still see the twinkling of the faded blue eyes?

His strength ebbing quickly, he let his eyes unfocus and waited for the finality of death...


	3. Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits

STAVE II: The First of the Three Spirits

Severus knew not what had awoken him. He lay quietly, his arm covering his eyes, trying to assess the situation without looking. He heard the distant sounds of thunder from outside the Shack, and realized it wasn’t the weather he was hearing, it was the sound of the terrible war that was being waged down the road at the school. Then...the memory of his...his chat with Albus and his chains came back to him at the speed of light.

Lifting his arm, he looked about the room. He moved his arm, noting how the pooled blood caked his sleeve. It was tacky now; he’d been out for a while. Becoming at once aware of a foreign presence in the room, his heart began a slow thudding in his chest.

He squinted to focus on the shape materializing before him. As his eyes adjusted to the trick of light emanating from the form, he perceived the pale oval of a face. It was framed by long hair, and the more he looked, the redder the hair became. His eyes moved downward, and he could make out a flowing gown, with flowers circling the waist, the white dress covering the shape all the way to the floor. He could see the apparition was barefoot, and the feet were decidedly feminine. His eyes moved slowly back up to the face, and his heart hammered more quickly as he recognized it at last.

“Lily!”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, Severus,” she answered. “That I look like Lily is your own doing.”

“But why would I expect to see Lily’s face on you? There must be a reason. It is you, isn’t it? And it was Albus who came to me?” He saw that her head seemed to be crowned with a wreath of flowers, and they seemed to glow, as if there were hidden embers buried in them. She held in her hand a funnel-shaped hat, which she attached to her flowered belt as she took his hand to urge him up from the floor. He followed, stupefied, amazed that he could move. He could feel no real pain from the vicious bite on his neck, but the drying, clotting blood was uncomfortable. He could smell and almost swallow the hot, coppery taste of it.

“We are who you see, Severus, but we are not the same people we were in life. I will have you come with me, to visit the shadows of your past.” She pulled him toward the high window, in which nothing but the sky could be seen from this angle.

“But, Lily...I mean, Spirit...I’m a mortal wizard. I can’t travel as you apparently can. I’ll fall, or collapse. I have been bitten by a vile serpent.”

“Touch my robe, Severus. Trust me to lead the way.”

He complied nervously, still staring at the face he thought he’d never see again. He’d follow her anywhere.

She pulled him toward the window, and he was only slightly surprised to feel his feet come up off the floor. As they passed through the dirty glass, he shut his eyes and held his breath. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, wondering where the town of Hogsmeade had gone. Instead of seeing the familiar streets and shoppes, he saw a dark and dreary room, a kitchen. His feet touched the floor, and he stood next to Lily-the-Spirit and watched his father and mother arguing. Glancing in the corner where he knew he’d find his seven-year-old self, he once again felt the helpless hatred toward the shouting man. Both his childhood self and his present, invisible self cringed when his mother ducked under the violent attack of his father.

“Why show me this, Lily?” he asked. “It’s not a memory I will ever forget.”

“You must see all the puzzle pieces that made you the wizard you are today, Severus. You have to become aware that you have shaped your own destiny. The feelings you had from childhood onward have all taken a part in your decisions.”

“I know exactly why I made the decisions I made over the years,” he replied testily. “What good does it do to take me back through these memories?”

“Such a sad, lonely, and frightened child you were, Severus,” Lily remarked sadly. “Had you no friends who could show you that life wasn’t always going to be this way?”

“Funny you should ask,” he said, looking directly at her. “You were that friend.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took his hand, and he savored the contact. So fully was his focus on her touch that he didn’t notice the change of scenery until she turned away, gesturing with her free arm to the surroundings. He looked around, seeing the castle grounds, the childish faces of the students who’d been part of his educational years. He dropped her hand in surprise as a memory he’d lost until this moment began playing out before him.

It was a young Lucius Malfoy in the center of a group of boys, and Severus was on the outskirts of the group, trying to be a part of it without drawing attention to himself. His middle-aged self looked on, his stomach churning, but he knew he was helpless to stop what was about to happen. He turned to Lily beseechingly.

“Take me away from this place, Lily,” he asked. “Whatever lesson I must learn from this memory is better told to me instead of shown.”

“Keep watching.” There was ice in her voice, and Severus shuddered to hear it. In all the years he’d known her, even when she’d spurned his apology for calling her a vile name, he’d never heard this tone before. He moved his eyes back to the tableau before him.

Lucius waved the young Severus to the center of the group, and Severus watched helplessly as his boyish self nervously drew nearer to his then-idol. Lucius showed him a photograph, and smirked along with his cohorts as the young wizard gazed at it.

Severus, standing beside Lily, closed his eyes as he remembered what he’d seen in the photograph. It was as though he were looking directly at the photo now, and his face contorted at the memory. The photo was one of Lily, and Lucius had used magic to enhance it. Lily of the photo began pulling off articles of her clothing, one piece at a time, smiling provocatively at the photographer. By the time she was completely naked, the boys around young Severus had been rolling on the ground, laughing at the shock and dismay showing on Severus’ face. They’d known just how to hit him hard.

The too-young Severus--only a second year at the time--had not harbored any wish to see his cherished friend in this light. It was unsettling, to say the least, and the very idea that these older boys were entertaining themselves at the expense of Lily’s modesty was too much for him to take. He’d thrown the photo at Lucius, then had turned and run away from the crowd, his face hot as he’d heard the jeering laughter behind him.

He’d never told Lily about the photograph.

As Lucius must have known it would, it had colored his relationship with Lily ever after. He could not see her afterwards without remembering how she’d looked in the photo, and wondering how close to reality the magically-enhanced striptease could be. Had Lucius ever seen his Lily naked?

“Did you ever find out about that photo?” he asked of her now.

“I knew, Severus. I knew you saw it as well.”

“Why did you never mention it?”

“If it embarrassed you to see it, how do you think I felt?”

“I would not have looked at it had I known what it was, Lily, I promise you.”

“This isn’t about me, Severus.”

He looked at her, trying to divine her meaning from her eyes. But those green orbs gave nothing away, and she reached out once again for his hand. He clasped her fingers, noticing that three of the flowers in her hair were burning. Before he could comment about it, a busy street loomed up before him. He looked around at the people walking about, at the shops they went in and out of, and recognized Diagon Alley.

He followed Lily down the street, wondering at the incongruity of seeing her near the decrepit Knockturn Alley. As they walked down the decaying steps leading into the dark alley, he moved in front of her, as if to shield her pure soul from the filth and evil which surrounded them and permeated the very air. She smiled indulgently, then nodded toward the bookstore ahead. He followed her gaze, and saw himself as a young man, just about to enter the store. Lucius Malfoy was directly behind him, one hand on Severus’ shoulder, guiding him inside.

This could be any number of memories, and so Severus did not hesitate when Lily urged him inside to witness what was about to happen.

“I really don’t see why not,” Lucius was saying. “You have a talent for potions; that much is obvious, if not to your employer. You’re limiting yourself, you know. You could do much better than that apothecary. Use your talents for a master who would better appreciate them, and could offer you so much more than that paltry wage.”

This, then, was the meeting that would prove to be a pivotal point in Severus’ life. He’d met Lord Voldemort that day. He’d been interviewed by him, much like the interviews he’d had ever since leaving Hogwarts, and by the end of the meeting, he had secured a place in Voldemort’s organization.

“You know, it wasn’t until months later I realized what he had in mind,” Severus confided to Lily.

She leveled a look at him. “Will you try to convince me you had no idea what that wizard was all about?”

Severus lowered his eyes, knowing he couldn’t lie to her. “I knew he believed in pureblood supremacy. I knew he wanted me to help him in his quest to rid the world of those who did not follow him. But it was so distant at the time. It never hit home until...”

“Yes, until,” she murmured. She touched his arm, and Severus blinked, then found himself sitting on a park bench, in the very park where he’d first met Lily. She sat by his side, and both Lily-the-Spirit and the older Snape moved nearer to where the two bowed their heads close together in conversation.

“You used to love me,” the young Lily was saying. “Until a new idol took my place.”

“What new idol?” he argued. “There’s no one else.”

“There are your friends, and that evil wizard they all follow. Those are the ones you love now.”

“Nonsense, Lily. They are the means to an end, that’s all. I know they’re using me, but I’m using them as well. It will get me what I want, what I need.”

“There was a time I thought I could give you those.”

“I mean security...recognition...simple appreciation for my talents. But it’s you I love, Lily.”

“You don’t love me enough to give them up, Severus. I can’t live my life, knowing the sort you’re associating with. I don’t want to raise a family while always having to look over my shoulder to see if your friends are upset with something I do or don’t do. Besides, I’m Muggle-born, and one day, they will force you to make a choice. If your love for security, recognition, and appreciation is stronger than your love for me, what will become of me? Of our children?”

“Lily, I will never give you cause to regret marrying me,” he swore.

Severus-the-current groaned, pulling Lily-the-Spirit backward, away from the couple on the bench. “Please show me no more,” he begged. “I see the folly of those words, I need not see more of this conversation. Take me from here now, before I relive all the hurt that came from this. Why do you torture me so?”

“These are but the shadows of your past, Severus,” she said calmly. “That they are what they are, do not blame me.”

He looked over to the bench, a single tear trailing slowly down his face as Lily the younger rose from the bench and walked away from young Severus, never looking back. He shut his eyes in pain, and when he opened them again, he found himself inside a house he didn’t recognize.

But he recognized the people in it. James Potter was settling back on the sofa, lifting his socked feet to a footstool as Lily sat next to him, a bouncing baby on her lap, pulling her hair. She chuckled as she disengaged the baby’s fingers.

“I saw an old friend of yours today,” Potter was saying.

“Yes? Who?”

“Sniv...Snape,” he replied. “He was in that apothecary in Diagon Alley.”

“I’d heard through the grapevine he was apprenticing there. Did he say anything to you?”

“No, and he doesn’t apprentice there anymore. Haven’t you heard the latest? He got involved in research or something. Malfoy fixed him up in some posh position. Besides, I didn’t stop in; I only saw him through the window. He saw me, as well. If looks could kill...”

She laughed gaily. “Stop it, James. He always has that look on his face. I’m sure he means you no harm.”

“Sure. The first chance he gets, he’s going to serve me up on a platter to his friends. Speaking of which, Albus Dumbledore says he has a safe house for us. We’ll have to decide on a Secret-Keeper...”

Severus turned to look at the spirit by his side. “You knew? You knew I’d gone to the Death Eaters and instead of trying to talk me away, you were content with your family, laughing with James and Harry while I sold my soul to the devil?”

Lily smiled sadly. “I couldn’t let your decisions ruin my life, Severus. None of us knew what was in store for us.”

He dropped to his knees, pulling at her gown. “Lily, please forgive me. Had I but known what the information I took to Voldemort would result in, I never ... Please tell me you forgive me!”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a swirl of shadows, and startled, he looked fully at his surroundings. “No, no, please not here,” he begged Lily. “This is a memory I relive every day; what is the point of bringing me here to see it yet again?”

She turned to watch the scene unfold before them, and when Severus realized his pleas were wasted on her, he slowly made his way to the nearest parapet of the Astronomy Tower and looked down at the ground, feeling a touch of vertigo as his eyes adapted to the distance.

He patently refused to watch the scene play out, but he couldn’t help but hear Albus’ plea, and his own voice utter the Killing Curse. He shut his eyes tightly, but even from the top of the tower, he could hear the awful thud as his mentor, his friend, his would-be savior hit the ground.

He slowly turned to look back at the spirit. She calmly waited for him, then led the way through the door. Once he crossed the threshold, they were in the headmaster’s office. Looking around, he realized this was probably the last thing she could show him of his past. She might wish to show him all the mistakes he’d made in the War of Hogwarts, but since the battle was probably still going on, even while his hallucinating self was dying, surely that would be something for the next ghost.

He snorted in disdain as he saw Arthur Weasley writing in his journal across the room from the headmaster’s desk. Though the Minister had reluctantly approved of his position as headmaster, due to the Death Eater-riddled Ministry and the pressure they put upon his unknowing mind, he had wanted to let Severus know he was still being investigated under suspicion of murdering Albus Dumbledore. The only way he’d escaped Azkaban was by agreeing to be under ‘castle-arrest’. Until further notice, he’d been under orders not to leave the castle unescorted, and all his activities had to deal with the running of the school and the supervision of the staff.

And the one they’d assigned to be his warden, for some obscure reason, had been Arthur Weasley. He supposed he should have been grateful it hadn’t been an Auror; this new breed was notorious for displaying their opinions of suspected murderers by using excessive and needless force whenever possible, and Weasley, at least, wasn’t that sort.

But it still burned that he couldn’t even slip away to the Hog’s Head on occasion for a much needed drink of spirits and a relief from the oppressive atmosphere of Hogwarts. He’d once brought it up to the Dark Lord, on a rare night when the foul wizard had seemed in reasonably good spirits. His reply had only served to remind Severus he was but a mere pawn in the overall scheme. “Think of it, Severus,” he’d said. “You’ll be in the perfect position to pick up anything Weasley might inadvertently drop about the Order. I never could find out if he was a member, but with his connections to the Ministry, he’s bound to know something. We’ll keep him there, I think. Besides, getting past the incarceration wards to meet with me has never proven difficult.”

He tuned into the room now, hearing Weasley’s scratching of his quill. His past self was sitting at the desk, brooding. Albus of the portrait was dozing.

“It’s bloody cold in here, Snape,” Arthur protested. “Can’t we have a fire in the grate?”

“No.”

He hadn’t elaborated. Let Weasley freeze his bollocks off. Snape hadn’t wanted a fire, because he hadn’t wanted to encourage anyone to Floo-call him. For some reason, it seemed folks were less likely to do so if his grate was empty. Bad enough the owls always found him.

His past self called out, “Enter,” at the knock on the door, and he watched Draco enter the room, a dreadfully cheerful smile upon his face. It was nice to see it, after all the turmoil Draco had been going through lately, but it still unsettled Snape.

“Merry Christmas, Headmaster,” he called out. He nodded casually to Arthur, wishing him well, and Arthur smiled warmly before returning to his writing. This, too, was odd behavior for Draco, and Snape had waited with bated breath to see what was putting all the cheer into Draco’s normally Weasley-hating heart.

“Codswallop,” he’d replied to Draco’s greeting. “Making merry at Christmas is only for fools who don’t see the world around them. Or those who insist on ignoring it. What reason have you to be merry? You’re in enough trouble.”

“And what reason have you to be so gloomy? You’ve saved me from enough trouble. I’ve come to ask you to the party at home tomorrow.”

“I spend enough time with that lot, and I should be allowed one day per year to ignore them.”

“We have so much more to be forgetting this year than normal, though, don’t we?” Draco asked, tongue in cheek. “Please come. Mother and Father would dearly love to have you.”

Past-Snape sneered, and pretended interest in a book he took from his drawer. Draco, unperturbed, walked nearer to Weasley and began chatting with him, as if the two were old friends.

“And how are all the little Weasleys, Mr. Weasley? Alright, then?”

“Mostly they are, yes, thank you. All excited about the hols, and even Bill and Charlie will be around to enjoy the season with us.”

Snape filed away the information about the two elder Weasley boys in case he ever needed a tidbit of information to appease the Dark Lord. He shamelessly continued eavesdropping on the conversation across the room.

“Mostly?” questioned Draco. “None are ill, are they?”

“Well, Ginny is away from school; I don’t know if you’re aware of it. We don’t know what’s wrong. The Healers don’t even know which tests to perform on her.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“It seems so, I’m afraid. She hasn’t any energy, no appetite, and she’s not sleeping well. It just seems she’s aging beyond her years, and just doesn’t have the strength to go on. No one can explain it.”

Draco looked up at Snape, catching his eye. “And are there no potions that could help? Perhaps she’s merely depressed because Potter isn’t here. He’s off gallivanting around, doing who knows what, and she’s missing him.”

Snape looked away. He couldn’t be arsed to be concerned about one of the many Weasley brood. And he’d be damned if Draco’s suddenly genial mood would heap yet another burden upon his stressed shoulders, anyway. The watching Severus hung his head, feeling the guilt he knew Lily-the-Spirit had intended him to feel at his callous attitude.

“Well, St. Mungo’s has all the potions to heal, I suppose,” Arthur continued. “We can only wait to see if any of them help.”

The door opened once again, this time without a warning knock, and past-Severus groaned under his breath as Lupin and Tonks entered. Tonks gave a jaded look over her shoulder to Draco, nodded at Weasley, and followed Lupin to Snape’s desk. Lupin, without being asked, took a seat in the comfortable chair before the desk, grinning at Snape.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Lupin?” He didn’t bother to hide the tone.

Tonks popped her gum and wandered around the office, glancing into each portrait and sometimes exchanging words with those who bothered to greet her. Lupin settled back in his chair and seemed to force himself to relax.

“I’ve come to ask your assistance, Snape,” he answered. “I don’t know if you’ve heard--” And here he glanced quickly at Snape, then back down again. “--but there has been another Death Eater raid in Muggle London. So many this time. They’ve lost their homes, many of them, and there have been deaths. More injuries than deaths, however, and none of these families will have any sort of Christmas this year.”

“Is there no Muggle welfare system?”

“Of course, but under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christmas cheer of mind of body to the multitudes, a few of us are endeavouring to gather wizards to Transfigure and repair homes, feed them, conjure up some clothing and blankets, and perhaps a few gifts for the children. What shall I put you down for? An hour of your time? A few potions?”

“Nothing.”

“You wish to remain anonymous?”

“I wish to be left alone,” Snape said acidly. “Since you ask me what I wish, Lupin, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas--”

“That’s certainly true,” Draco cut in.

“--and I can’t afford the time to make idle people merry.”

“That’s certainly not true,” Draco contested, smirking.

Snape sent him a glare and continued as if uninterrupted. “They have shelters and hospitals and welfare agencies. Those who are badly off must go there.”

“Many can’t,” Lupin argued, “and many would rather die.”

“If they would rather die,” Snape said nonchalantly, “they had better do it and decrease the surplus population.”

Snape had the pleasure of seeing Lupin’s eyes bulge at this, and without further word, he pointedly held his book up before his nose. Lupin’s chair scraped over the floor as the wizard got to his feet, and Tonks moved past his desk to follow Lupin out the door. Draco leapt to his feet, following them, and making it a point to speak loudly enough that Snape could hear him.

“Professor Lupin!” he called out, joining them. “Put me down for five hours. I’ll help wherever I can.” He shot a last triumphant look over his shoulder to Snape, waved to Weasley, and closed the door behind them all.

“Codswallop,” Snape murmured under his breath.

Arthur stood, pulling on his outer robe, preparing to leave for the day, to go home to his brood at The Burrow. Snape ignored him, but Arthur approached his desk anyway.

“Good night, Severus,” he said softly. “As Christmas is tomorrow, I won’t be in, so I’ll wish you a Happy Christmas now.”

“I suppose you’ll want the whole day off,” Severus grumbled.

“Why, of course. And surely you don’t want the annoyance of my hovering on the holiday? You almost make it sound as though you’ll miss me.” He ducked his head, hiding his grin.

“It only means I’ll be confined to the castle. And it won’t be quiet this year, with all those annoying students around, whose parents think they’ll be safer here.”

“Well, surely they are safer here at Hogwarts than at their own homes,” Arthur replied. “The Dark Mark has been showing up in far too many places, even in Muggle towns, over Muggle homes. Oh, I see,” he interrupted himself. “You had plans for the day? Going to Christmas dinner at a friend’s? I’m sure the Ministry will allow you to leave the castle on such a day as Christmas. I’ll make sure to let them know your plans.”

“Friends are for the idle,” Severus snapped. “I only resent that I can’t come and go as I please, that’s all. You will no doubt be here all the earlier the next day, won’t you?”

“No doubt. Well, then, have a good one. I’ll see you on Boxing Day.”

As the door closed behind Weasley, Severus-the-current glanced at Lily, but could not discern her thoughts from looking at her eyes. He noticed that the flowers in her hair were all burning now, and the flames seemed to grow bigger even as he watched. He grabbed the funnel-shaped hat from her belt of flowers, and before she could move, he brought it down upon her head, snuffing out the flaming flowers.

As he followed the hat down to the floor, wondering where she had disappeared to, he suddenly found himself back in the Shrieking Shack, pressing his hands flat to the filthy floor. Dropping his head in defeat, he allowed his emotionally exhausted self to collapse.


	4. Stave III: The Second of the Three Spirits

STAVE III: The Second of the Three Spirits

Severus slowly opened his eyes, startled to learn he’d fallen asleep. He had no way of judging how long he’d dropped off, and as he sat up and tried to focus on the view outside the window, he became aware of a hint of light that allowed him to see better in the darkening room.

He turned to find the source of the light; it seemed to be coming from down the hallway. He followed the light to what was once optimistically called a sitting room. Just before his fingers clasped around the handle of its door, he hesitated. He thought he heard laughter, a great, booming voice chuckling as if its owner hadn’t a care in the world.

Severus drew in a fortifying breath, forced his fingers to stop shaking, then bravely opened the door to face his demons.

The light was almost blinding him. He squinted against it, holding his hand up to defend his eyes against the luminous attack.

“Come in, and know me better, Sev’rus!” the voice boomed in good cheer.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, Severus moved closer. He felt the heat of the fire in the grate--a flame that looked even larger than the grate itself--and the smell of various savory foods assailed his nostrils. He looked around the room and saw tables laden with roast turkey, sausages, duck, pheasant under glass, bowls filled with mashed potatoes, sweet yams, apples, oranges, bananas, steaming heaps of puddings, treacle, mugs and steins filled to the brims with pumpkin juice, wines, brandies, coffee, and tea.

Sitting in the midst of it all was Hagrid. Though not a small wizard, his size now threatened to upset the foundation of the rooms, and Severus was surprised to find he could still traverse the space between the doorway and the floor cushions the huge wizard was sitting upon. He moved closer, unsure if all this seeming good will was an illusion, or if he truly need not fear the meeting.

“S’ down, and know me better, Sev’rus!”

“I know you quite well, Hagrid,” he answered stiffly. “It’s...ah...good to see you. What brings you here at this time of night?” If he could treat this as a mere social call, he could quiet the beating of his nervous heart.

“Think o’ me as the Ghost of Christmas Present. It’s my task to show yer the world around yeh, Sev’rus,” Hagrid said in his gruff, friendly voice. “To show yer the things yer refuse to see.”

“Why do you appear larger than you are in reality?”

“My size fits my needs,” came the cryptic answer. “Though yer consider yerself aware o’ the state o’ things, there’s still things yer refuse to take seriously. Yer’ve become so bottled up in yer own life and its challenges, yeh’ve forgotten the world a’ large.”

“I was never allowed to forget,” he argued, his voice waspish. “Albus was always going on about the Greater Good, how the world needed to be a better place.”

“But because he din’t say anythin’ ya wanted to hear, yeh’ve only gone through the motions. Now it’s time yeh saw for yerself, through yer own eyes, what yer’ve been missin’ all this time. Take hold of my robes and we’ll be off. I haven’ much time.”

Any argument would be futile, Severus knew, and he would sooner face his troubles than put them off. Severus reached out and grabbed hold of the furry robes Hagrid wore, and watched as the food and fire swirled around his eyes before it disappeared. When he could focus once more, his eyes beheld a sorry-looking edifice, alone on a large area of land. Looking about, he saw a few pigs pushing against each other, looking for the most comfortable spot in which to sleep, and he could see a small structure near the pen, the soft noises from within telling Snape it was a chicken coop.

The house which he and Hagrid were approaching was at best, ramshackle, and at worse, too late to be condemned. Fervently hoping Hagrid didn’t expect him to enter the questionable abode, he veered off to the side to peer into a window instead. He wiped off the late night condensation from the glass, then pressed his prominent nose against it.

The interior was dim, but not so much that Severus couldn’t see it was a kitchen. He saw a long table taking up the middle space, with several mismatched chairs around it. There were two people sitting there, and as he strained his eyes to make out their features, Hagrid’s huge hand came down on his shoulder.

“They’ll not see yer, Sev’rus,” he said in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. “These’re only shadows we’re seein’. Let’s go in and poke ‘round.”

So saying, the two suddenly materialized inside, and Severus saw Arthur and Molly Weasley sharing tea. The silence in the house was almost palpable, save for the sound of Molly’s spoon scraping against the bottom of her teacup as she stirred.

Severus glanced at Hagrid, frowning. “How is it you’re no bigger than I, all of a sudden?”

“My size fits my needs,” he repeated, nodding toward the Weasleys. Severus followed his gaze, wondering why the pair of them weren’t upstairs, fast asleep. Just then, Arthur’s voice broke the silence.

“Molly, it’s the season of hope,” he assured her. “Something will break, don’t you worry. Everything will be all right.”

Molly took the spoon from her cup and let it drop to the table. “She just stares up at the ceiling, Arthur. She doesn’t sleep; she doesn’t eat...she barely blinks! Where has my baby gone? What horrible spell has been cast on her? Who would do such a thing?”

“Now, Molly, we don’t know that anyone is responsible for this. Until we know what’s wrong with her, there’s no point in trying to find someone to blame.”

“But what are we to do, Arthur? Are we to celebrate Christmas with her lying up there, unaware of her family around her? She doesn’t even know me...” Molly broke down and began crying, her hands coming up to cover her face. Arthur leaned in, hugging her, smoothing his hands over her hair, shushing her, trying to keep her from waking up the rest of the family.

Severus leaned in toward Hagrid. “Why did you bring me here, Hagrid? Did you think I could wave my wand and make it all better? Brew a potion that would make everything alright again?”

Instead of replying, Hagrid held Severus’ arm, and an instant later, they were inside a small bedroom. Severus wandered nearer the bed, and recognized Ginny Weasley as she lay there, unmoving, eyes wide open and staring upward. He looked back at Hagrid.

“She’s been like this fer three weeks now,” Hagrid said. “No one knows why, or how, or who did it. She won’ eat...she don’ sleep. She won’ last much longer.”

“But...surely something can be done? St. Mungo’s? Home remedies?”

“Well, nothin’s worked so far. Still, if she’s got to die, she should do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Severus lowered his eyes to the floor, knowing he couldn’t berate Hagrid for using his own words against him. Glancing once again at the lifeless body in the bed, he looked back at Hagrid. “Tell me...is her death inevitable? Won’t she survive this? Aside from a few wisely chosen hexes in clear-cut cases of self-defense, she’s never hurt a soul. She doesn’t deserve...” His words trailed off as Hagrid shook his head.

“All I can see ahead is this empty bed, and all I can hear is Molly’s cries,” he said. “If those images appear in the future, yeh’ll have yer answer.” He waved his umbrella over the catatonic young girl, and Severus followed him from the room.

Hagrid gestured for Severus to follow him outside. When the cool air of the night touched them, Hagrid turned and waved an umbrella toward the door they’d just exited. Severus watched as twinkling lights left the umbrella’s tip, then sprayed outward until much of the door was covered with them. After a moment, the lights faded, leaving the door as if unmolested, looking as if it wouldn’t keep out a draught, let alone anyone who wished to threaten the security of the home.

Hagrid grabbed Severus’ arm, lifting him into the night, and The Burrow faded away beneath them. Higher and higher they rose, and just before vertigo threatened to hit, Severus found his feet firmly on the ground, or rather the floor. Looking at this new scene before him, he saw the staff lounge on Hogwarts’ third floor, and Minerva, Rolanda, Filius, and Filch were sitting on assorted chairs around the fireplace, chatting over tea and scones.

“It wouldn’t have cost him a minute of his time,” Minerva was saying. “All he had to do was give me the go-ahead, and I’d have done all the work. Merlin knows, we certainly could have used it this year especially.”

“Well, maybe I see his reasoning,” Filch said. “Things like that take lots of planning, for us here at the school, and for them what’s planning to attend the blasted thing. The silly girls want to buy the prettiest dresses and put all that paint on their faces, and the boys want to build up the nerve to ask those same silly girls to go with ‘em.”

“Honestly, Argus,” Roland broke in. “You act like you’ve never been a boy. Of course that’s what they’d do, and it’s a big part of growing up. It’s like a coming of age rite or something. The girls get silly, and the boys get nervous.”

“Yeah, but it also takes a lot for the rest of us, you know. Snape’s already busy with trying to keep this school running, what with all that Death Eater nonsense going on now. Last thing he needs is to be saddled with keepin’ them kids secure while they think of nothin’ but whether or not they can get away with spikin’ the punch and pinchin’ a pretty bum.”

“I knew you’d take his side,” shot Minerva. “You two huddle together like rain and fog, always trying to upset other people’s good times.”

“Now, don’t go getting off on your high horse, Minerva,” replied Filch. “You know he’s too busy keeping the Carrows at bay--I don’t know why he tries so hard--and keeping these kids in school. Not all of us see this Yule Ball as anything important, compared to what’s happening outside these walls.”

“True, true, I haven’t forgotten what faces us all,” she said defensively. “Which is why I think it’s so important we have this Ball. These are children, Argus, and they need a break from all the stress. Some are missing their loved ones, especially at this time of year, and the least we can do is act as their families, if only to make the day special for them.”

Severus looked at Hagrid incredulously. “You brought me here for this? How can a simple dance be so all-important that I’ve had to give up a precious hour of sleep? What _lesson_ am I to learn from this?”

Hagrid beamed, as if Severus had said something brilliant. Instead of answering, he waved his umbrella over the group, then turned and beckoned Severus to follow him out the door. Instead of seeing the hallway outside the staff lounge, he saw grey, crumbling walls, and he could hear the dripping of water off in the distance. He jumped, startled, as a large rat scuttled past them, ducking into a narrow crack in the wall ahead.

They were in Azkaban.

Though he knew these were shadows, images of places, he still felt the energy of his will ebbing from him. Dementors were still in attendance here, and he didn’t have to see them to know they were near. Hagrid ushered him to a hallway to their left, and Severus glanced in the cells they passed. Surprisingly, he heard singing.

At least six of the prisoners were lounging on their beds, smiling softly as they shared Christmas carols, which harmonized nicely as the echoes bounced up and down the dismal hall. When one prisoner got the words wrong, there was good-natured laughing and razzing as they took it up again. All the while, Hagrid shook his umbrella, sending the twinkling lights to each cell.

“What is that you’re doing, Hagrid?”

“‘Tis Christmas cheer, Sev’rus.” His bushy brown hair was greying, Severus noticed. When had that begun to happen? “Mind you, it only works this well a’ this time o’ year, but it’s strong enough to overcome the dismal atmosphere o’ the bloody dementors.”

They turned another corner, and Severus found himself in an open field, where several campfires, or more likely bluebell flames, were lit here and there. He counted twelve separate fires, and in the flickering light, he made out the grotesque features of house-elves. He recognized some of them from their service at Hogwarts, but he also saw there were many more he’d never seen before, and of various ages, from tiny, childlike elves to bent, grizzled, elderly elves.

“What are they doing out here?” he asked Hagrid. “Have they left the castle?”

“Even lowly house-elves celebrate the biggest holiday o’ the year,” Hagrid answered. “This is the one time of year they can see their kin.” He swung his huge arm out in a sweeping arc, and Severus watched as the tiny, twinkling lights shot out of his umbrella and spread out until they descended over the groups clustered around the campfires, where they slowly faded out. He could hear the soft chattering of the elves amongst each other, and watched as the little ones nestled closer to their elders, snuggling up against what must be their mothers.

Before Severus could eavesdrop on any of the conversations, he felt a wave of dizziness as Hagrid pulled him into another setting. Here there were mountains, a large valley, and several dangerous looking crevices he hoped Hagrid had the foresight not to lead him into.

He heard a rumbling, groaning, and quaking roar in the distance, and Hagrid handed him a pair of binoculars. Looking through them, he could make out moving shapes; it seemed the noise was coming from them.

“I won’ take yer any closer,” Hagrid said, “on accoun’of them bein’ so skittish-like.”

“I thought you said these were only shadows, and we were invisible to them.”

“Giants are a lot more perceptive than yer seem to think. Bein’ I’m one o’ ‘em, they’d know I was here before we got close.” He held up his umbrella like a snooker cue, and with a quick motion, shot a bright streak of the twinkling lights over to the giants. The distant roaring faded down to indistinct grumblings, and Hagrid turned to leave, almost lifting Severus from his feet to follow. “I know yer don’ think o’ giants as havin’ sense,” he said as the wind whipped past Severus, “but even they know how to keep the season. Yeh could learn a lot from those lesser than yeh.”

Before he could protest Hagrid’s rougher treatment of his person, he found himself surrounded by a well-manicured lawn and a stately house looming up before him. He turned to look at Hagrid, to ask why he’d brought him to Malfoy Manor, and was shocked to see that Hagrid’s hair and beard were now completely white.

Hagrid gestured for him to enter the house, and Severus did so, following the sound of voices to the sitting room. Inside, he found Lucius and Narcissa dancing to music only the two could hear, and Draco chatting with several of his friends from Hogwarts. Pansy Parkinson clung to Draco’s side, and Severus approached them to see what was putting Draco in so cheerful a mood.

“Bigger than a breadbox, but smaller than a building? I know it’s some sort of animal, but does it fly, swim, or crawl?”

“It has been known to fly, can probably swim if pressed, and in spite of certain beliefs, never crawls. Not in his heart, anyway.”

“I know!” exclaimed Pansy. “It’s a bat!”

“Bats can’t swim, you ninny,” Blaise Zabini jeered. “And it’s my turn. Now then, Draco, does it prey on live animals, or is it a scavenger?”

“Though greatly misunderstood, it preys on nothing. And it is definitely not a scavenger.”

“Well, then it has to be human,” calculated Millicent Bulstrode. “But who?”

Draco grinned as Pansy jumped up and down. “I know, I know! It’s Snape! Right?”

Draco laughed as he proclaimed Pansy the winner. “I knew you’d get it, Pansy. You always seem to know what I’m thinking.”

“I think she got it right the first time,” Millicent said broodingly. “He’s a bat.”

Draco sighed. “Like I said, he’s misunderstood.”

Lucius had unhanded Narcissa long enough to allow her to leave the room, most likely to find a house-elf to replenish their food and drink, and he approached the group at the fireplace. Severus watched, still stinging from the comments made about him, as Lucius pulled Draco aside. He leaned closer to them, wanting to know what Lucius would say to his son.

“What are you going on about, Draco? What’s all this about Snape and crawling?”

“We were only playing twenty questions, Father. What’s the problem?”

“Because if our house guest should overhear you mocking one of his favorite followers, or hear you imply that any of his followers do not crawl, he’d be just upset enough to prove to all of us that we do, in fact, crawl. What’s gotten into you?”

“It was just a harmless game, Father, and I’m sure our lord wouldn’t waste his energy eavesdropping on pointless conversations among school children.”

“Never, _never_ , try to guess what he would or would not do!” Lucius admonished. “His actions lately have surprised even those of us who have known him all these years. Aren’t we in trouble enough?”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Draco said contritely. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to bring his wrath down on us.”

Lucius glared at Draco a moment longer, then let out his breath in a sigh, patting Draco’s shoulder comfortingly. “It can’t go on forever, Draco. Something will save us all soon. I just know it.”

Draco nodded, but Severus could see the boy didn’t believe his father’s words. He watched as Lucius left the room, and he saw Draco’s cheerful mask fall away, revealing the countenance Severus had seen all this past year. Then, visibly shrugging off the mood, Draco pasted a smile on his face once again, and turned back to his friends.

Snape had forgotten Hagrid, until the half-giant dusted the Malfoys’ sitting room and all its occupants with his magical dust. Severus wordlessly followed him outside.

Once at the front gates, he turned to Hagrid. “Why did you spread your...your good cheer to people who are doing everything in their power to fight you? You’re a member of the Order; surely you of all people wouldn’t have wasted the lights.”

“I’m the Ghost o’ Christmas Present,” Hagrid reminded him. “Tonight, I’m not an Order member, nor a Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, nor a Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. I sprinkle the lights on all who need it. And some--” He looked back at the manor. “--some need it more than others, I reckon.”

He pushed through the gates, walking more slowly, and slightly bent over. Severus noticed something odd about his robes, and when he looked down at the ground, it seemed Hagrid had sprouted extra feet.

“Hagrid,” he said, putting his hand on the half-giant’s arm to stop him. “What’s under your robes? You seem to have acquired a few stowaways.”

Hagrid turned to face him. He pulled open his robes, revealing two quivering and cowering shapes, who were gripping his trousers tightly. “This here is Ignorance,” he said, indicating the female-ish gnome to his right. “And this one is her brother, Want. Ugly, ain’ they? Still, so many keep ‘em in their lives, when there’s no reason fer it.” He grinned mockingly at Snape. “Yeh’d do best to get rid of ‘em, yeh know...”

Before Severus could comment, Hagrid closed his robes and pulled him away from the cold winter night. As Severus thought about all the things he’d been shown in the last hour, he tried to piece together what Hagrid’s lesson was supposed to have been. Did he think he’d shown Severus anything he hadn’t already known?

He turned to Hagrid, to voice his opinion of the events, or rather the non-events, only to find he was all alone. Looking about, training his eyes on the far horizon, all he could see was barren land. The absence of sound was pressing on his ears with an almost tangible force. His heart began to throb in time, and he pivoted sharply, gasping, as he suddenly sensed something invading his personal space.

He almost bumped into an amorphous shape, and without knowing why, he felt such a strong feeling of horror overtake him that his overtaxed mind couldn’t deal with it, and he slumped to the ground, his hand pulling on the dark mist before him. He had time to register surprise at the feel of the rough material in his fingers, just before darkness overtook him.


	5. Stave IV: The Last of the Spirits

STAVE IV: The Last of the Spirits

Severus drew in a deep breath, sitting up and trying to shake off the grogginess. He must have passed out, and upon realizing it, he froze. Before any more of his movements could give away his mental status to anyone lurking near, he tried to assess his surroundings. He remembered Hagrid and the two revolting urchins under his robe...then...

He opened his eyes, looking around. At first, he saw nothing, but as he let his eyes unfocus, a dark shape seemed to materialize just off to his right. He trained his eyes in that direction, and the shape began to take on form. By the time Severus got his feet under him, the shape suggested the skeletal structure of a man, though no features could be seen. There was a shroud or hood hiding what should be the face, and the part that should be feet never touched the ground. It undulated just far enough above the surface that Severus imagined it hovering, waiting to see what its reception would be.

“Will you not speak to me?” he asked it.

There was no answer, but Severus sensed it was listening. “Are you the one whose appearance had been predicted to me? Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?”

Still Severus could not hear an answer, but it did seem to him that the hood contracted slightly, as if the spirit nodded. The chilling fear had not left Severus, and it was too much, all too much for a single night. He dropped to his knees on the hard, unforgiving ground, allowing his wretched and exhausted soul to lay bare for anyone or anything to see.

“Spirit, it seems unfair to save you for the last,” he moaned piteously. “I should have been able to deal with you when my strength was at a high, but to have two other spirits prey on me before you...it seems an unfair prank to play on me.”

Immediately, Severus felt a bolt made of a thousand razors hit his mind, as though the most horrifying sight in the world had flashed without warning before his eyes. He felt his breath leave him in a rush, and as he struggled to draw in a new one, he vowed he would do nothing to upset the ghost who haunted him now. In a way, it was worse than being confronted by a dementor. Giving up on his sense of hearing, he tried to use his mind to tune into the ghost, who seemed to be using a communication method that had so far been denied Severus Snape.

Perhaps his overactive and tired consciousness was playing tricks on him, but Severus thought he heard hissing. Darting his eyes all around, he saw nothing but the desolate land, yet the hissing had seemed to come from a direction other than the spectre hovering before his face. Still, it was enough to get Severus back on his feet, and he turned, defeated, to the dark, flowing and ebbing shape.

“Spirit, I fear you more than any of the others. I know you have things to show me, things I’m to learn from the experience. But hear me: I have learned. I have compared what has happened to what is happening, and I know I must be a better wizard in the future. Surely because I’ve learned these lessons, there is no need to follow you now, don’t you agree?”

He discerned part of the shadow moving away from its center, elongating until it formed a limb, and this now pointed forward. Mesmerized, Severus stared at it until he began to see a long-fingered, bony hand. The rest of the shadow dropped slightly down from it, resembling a loose sleeve. If he stared at the being long enough, Snape wondered, would he finally see a familiar face?

But it gave Severus no time for idle mental wanderings. It emphasized the direction Severus must take by thrusting its hand again toward it, and Severus nodded once before dragging his feet onward. As he tried to imagine what unbearable sights he might now see, he also recalled some of the things he’d already seen.

His steps quickened almost eagerly now, for he wanted to see how Ginny Weasley had fared, and what had ultimately happened with the Dark Lord and the Malfoys. Even wishing to see what fate befell Harry Potter, his eyes searched the horizon, looking for any sign of light, any movement at all.

He was disappointed as the land around him began to take shape. With almost no difference in lighting, he could pick out buildings, a cobblestone street under him, and the slow movement of people in dark clothing walking about. He looked to his right, and his shadow ghost was there. Severus could see by the shape of its hood that it was looking at him. It discomfited him to know he was being watched without having a specific target, such as eyes, to watch back.

“Is this place supposed to be familiar to me?” he asked it. “I don’t recognize...” His voice trailed off as realization hit him. “Of course!” he muttered. We used to meet here...” He concentrated on the secret address, number 12, Grimmauld Place, and felt relieved to see the decrepit old house materialize between the two tenement buildings in front of him.

“Spirit! How strange you should bring me here!” he exclaimed almost happily. “This is the one place where my voice was heard, the only place anyone even came close to appreciating my efforts, recognizing the risks I took for them all.”

He eagerly headed toward the back stairs that led down to the kitchen, where the gathering of Order members had taken place. He pulled up short as he saw the wizards and witches sitting around the table. It wasn’t until he heard her speak that he recognized Minerva. How far into the future had the spirit taken him? How Minerva had aged! Her hair was snow white, and she trembled with palsy. Her voice was feeble, but in spite of that, he could see the rest leaning forward, straining to hear her every word.

“We should not be surprised the Ministry didn’t see it our way. Even Harry’s pleas fell on deaf ears. In spite of everything that happened during the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry just will not acknowledge what happened. We’ll just have to make sure we do things our way, as we have always done. Albus would have done the same.”

“That may be, Minerva, but not all of us bought into that misunderstood hero nonsense. Still, I’ll attend the memorial service if you provide a lunch.” Severus struggled to put a name to the face, and though the years had played hell on the features, it had to be Kingsley. But he’d never heard Kingsley speak so ill of anyone before.

“I can’t help but think it’s best all around if we let it go, Minerva.” This from Arthur Weasley. “Too many would rather forget he ever existed, you know. He stirred up ill feelings, whether those feelings were from mistrust or guilt.”

“How can we ignore him?” Minerva protested. “No one’s passage from this world should be ignored like this!”

“It’s simply not worth the trouble the Ministry will give us, Minerva, not for him. It’s nothing he would have wanted anyway, the antisocial being that he was. Just let it go, eh?” Severus recognized Charlie Weasley, and wondered why he looked no older than when Severus had last seen him, when Minerva looked so much older. Could the war against Voldemort and all it entailed have aged her so?

“You’re right,” Minerva said at last, sighing heavily. “The public doesn’t want to know, do they?”

Who was this unfortunate soul they were discussing? And why was there so much controversy in allowing a simple memorial for it?

As the spirit beckoned to him, Severus took one last look over his shoulder, but couldn’t find his own face among those at the table. So, in the future, he was no longer a member of the Order? Or...had Voldemort been victorious at the war? Perhaps that’s why he didn’t see himself in attendance here. Had he, once and for all, gone completely over to the Dark Lord?

The kitchen faded out as Severus and the spirit passed the doorway, and instead of the stairs leading back up to the hallway, he saw Malfoy’s sumptuous sitting room. Yes, here then, he would find himself, he decided. Here is where he must be in this uncertain future.

“It were inevitable, weren’t it?” a small, hump-backed wizard was saying. “I hear tell he was always mixing with those rough types, and they always turn on their own.”

“Serves him right, I say,” added another. “He shoulda stuck to his cauldrons, and not meddled in things what didn’t concern him.”

“I hear he was in it up to his neck,” argued still another. “He done sold his soul to that lot, and he weren’t right ever since.”

Severus stepped back reflexively as they spoke, wondering where the Malfoys were, and why these strange wizards were sitting in this room as if they owned it.

“Was it horrible?” the hump-backed wizard was asking. “I hear the whole room was awash in blood.”

“Well, it wan’t pleasant,” came the answer. “We was slipping and sliding all over the floor, but weren’t as much blood as they say. The stench were awful. ‘E musta been there three days afore we came cleanin’ up. All dead bodies smell, but this one had the added stench of Dark evil, not to mention the three-day delay. He didn’t resemble anything he’d been while alive, I know that.”

“We was all fer magickin’ the whole room clean, body an’ all, but Shacklebolt wouldn’ hear of it. He made us do it the hard way... figured there’d be some evidence he needed, or somethin’.”

“Glad it’s all over,” hump-back said. “Hey! I hear they’re searching for ‘is home. Do they think he’s got riches stashed away?”

The others laughed heartily. “Him? Rich? You think he’da been so wretched if he had money?”

When the spirit moved toward the door, Severus eagerly followed, anxious to be away from the blatant lack of respect for the dead.

They left the manor, Severus still wondering what had happened to the Malfoys, and instead of the lush grounds of the estate Severus would have expected, he saw the dingy and filthy cobblestoned streets and depressing buildings in Knockturn Alley.

He picked up a few words from the voices around him. Turning suddenly, he confirmed that particular tone was coming from Augusta Longbottom. She was near the corner, arguing with the landlord of the pawn shoppe over the contents of the sack she’d emptied in front of him.

“You’d better be prepared to hand over some serious coin for this lot,” she said authoritatively. “He got these from Grindelwald himself! Not directly, of course, but he inherited everything Dumbledore had, and Dumbledore’s the one who stole them from Grindelwald. It was part of the ingredients list to make the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“Yes, Missus Longbottom, but not a rare part,” the shopkeeper said slyly. “I have a hundred of these rocks. Now, then...can you hand over the Elder Wand?”

“You know bloody well no one knows where it is,” she spat. “Except Harry Potter, and no one can find him, either.”

The shopkeeper smirked, then calculated the price he’d be willing to pay for the rest of Augusta’s loot. “You’re a brave soul, milady,” he said, picking up a mask Severus would recognize for the rest of his days. “Flaunting a Death Eater mask about like this.”

“Jamming it down into a sack full of junk isn’t exactly flaunting it,” she replied. “Have you the nerve to display it here?” Her own smirk challenged his.

“Well, everyone what comes in here probably already has their own,” he said, chuckling. “Ten Knuts, no more for that one. What else is in here?” He continued picking through the trinkets. “And what’s so special about this ladle? Did it brew the Elixir of Life or something?”

“No doubt,” she said. “It’s supposed to be his favorite, so whatever potions he brewed, this ladle has touched it. Clearly, it’s worth a bit more? He did brew some fine potions.”

Severus leaned as close as he dared to the dark spirit. “Tell me there’s another Potions master they know, Spirit. Those aren’t my possessions, are they?”

The ghost pointed his cold bones toward the counter. “No, I can’t,” argued Severus. “Just tell me what I need to know; I can’t bear to look.”

The ghost only jerked his hand harder toward the counter. Severus lurched to the door instead, throwing himself out of it and waiting for the ghost to join him. Wild thestrals couldn’t drag him back in there, ghost or no ghost.

When the spirit silently took a place by his side, Severus looked at it in gratitude, not knowing what it was thinking. Was it feeling pity? Or was it sneering at him?

He realized it didn’t matter. As long as he didn’t have to confirm what he suspected, the ghost could be as smug as he wanted. Severus dragged his weary body along as the spirit led him away.

As they began to climb the stairs that would take them out of Knockturn Alley into Diagon Alley, Severus blinked uncertainly. Instead of the shoppes and crowds of wizards and witches he’d expected to find, all he could see was a dreary room in a house that must be about to fall down. Though he sensed it should be familiar to him, he had no time to think. On the floor was a shrouded body, clearly dead. The sheet covering it was blood-stained, and the dizziness he suddenly felt forced him to grab hold of the table to keep on his feet. Without seeing it, Severus knew the spirit was pointing to the body.

“No, no, don’t ask it of me,” Severus moaned, his free hand covering his eyes. “At the risk of my eternal soul, I will not look. You’ve tried to do your duty and educate me, but I was a teacher! I know you can’t force one to learn. Let’s just call this a good try, and I beseech you to return me to...to wherever it was you found me!”

Hearing nothing, and more importantly, sensing nothing, Severus slowly withdrew his shaking hand, opening his eyes. They were gone from the dark room with the dead body, and he recognized the staff lounge at Hogwarts. Minerva was sitting quietly near the fireplace, a cup of tea warming her hands. As he watched, the door opened, admitting Rolanda and Sybill. Rolanda poured two cups of tea, offered one to Sybill, then joined Minerva on the sofa. Sybill took a chair opposite.

“Does it seem to you that we’re no better off than before the war?” Rolanda asked rhetorically.

“How do you mean?” Sybill asked.

“Well, we’ve no more worries about the children’s safety, but when’s the last time you saw any of them smile?”

“The smiles will come back soon,” said Minerva. “They just don’t know how to feel, I suppose. Was he a hero or a villain? The poor dears must be _told_ how to feel.”

“If you ask me,” Rolanda put in, “those were dark times. Especially once he was appointed headmaster. We could have done so much better without that complication, you know.”

“Has the Ministry ever decided whether or not he’d altered those memories?”

“I don’t know, Sybill. They never tell me these things.”

“You know,” added Rolanda, “if he would just have been more human with us, I wouldn’t have cared what his allegiances were. All it would have taken was a smile now and then...maybe some small talk. Why did he always have to be so cold toward us? We’d all been working together for so long, and for him to be such a stranger. It’s not natural.”

“Well, it’s all in the past now,” Minerva said, rising and going to rinse out her cup. “Let’s let the wounds heal.”

Severus went quickly to Minerva’s side, and though he knew she couldn’t see or feel him, he rested his hand on her shoulder. She trembled, then pulled her shawl more tightly around her. “This room has picked up a new draught,” she muttered. “I thought the reconstruction crew took care of all the cracks.”

“The elves aren’t as good as they used to be,” Rolanda said, rolling her eyes. “They’ve been S.P.E.W.’ed, whatever that means.”

Severus drew back his hand, crossing his arms over his chest and hanging his head. When he looked up again, he and the spirit were in The Burrow. His head was beginning to ache from all the sudden changes in scenery, but his heart quickened. Rushing up the stairs, he burst into the room he knew to be Ginny’s and looked at the empty bed.

He stared, unbelieving, until the ghost entered behind him and moved to his side. “Where is she?” he demanded of it. The ghost aimed his ossified hand out the window, and Severus ran to it. Down below, in the garden, he could see Weasleys of all ages and sizes, all gathered around a willow, whose branches languidly stirred the pond behind it. As the crowd of redheaded relatives shifted, he could make out a white coffin, draped in rose garlands, and he staggered back, falling onto Ginny’s bed.

“It didn’t have to be that way,” he said, his impotent voice breaking. “Had I thought about it for a while, I would have figured out which potion...”

He looked up at where the spirit’s face should have been. “Arthur... he once asked me... I told him I was too busy keeping his son out of harm’s way. I was so cruel... Spirit, tell me. Who owned that body in that dark house? Whose blood stained that sheet? I must know!”

The spirit backed toward the door, but even as Severus demanded knowledge, he knew he didn’t have the nerve to go back there. He reached out for the hood, grasping, but his hand came back empty. The spirit was out the door, and Severus had no choice but to follow. He feared he’d be left in this future realm, and he’d spend eternity without answers.

As he began descending the rickety stairs, he began to hear the wind whistling through weeds and cattails. Looking around, he could see a blanket of fog obscuring the weak lamplight from down the road. The hooting of an owl sounded muted, and there was enough light only to show him flat and tilted stones. A churchyard then.

He saw to his left a freshly packed mound of dirt, and with a sinking heart, he followed the spirit nearer to it. “Is this the final resting place of the poor soul we saw in that shack? The one who was all alone? The one who was covered up with a shroud, but left alone there?”

The spirit stopped at the new headstone, facing Severus silently. He approached slowly, one cautious foot at a time, as if by delaying, he could be ignorant forever. But his thirst for knowledge drove him onward, and for each step he took forward, the spirit took another sideways, until Severus was all alone with the newly-dug grave. Turning toward the ghost, he tried one last time.

“What you’ve shown me, Spirit, might those be the shadow of things that _will_ happen? Or could they be shadows of things that only _might_ happen?”

The ghost stood motionless, not giving any indication he’d heard the question.

“Of course,” Severus continued fervently, “what would be the point in showing me anything? You were to provide me with a lesson about my life and how I’m living, weren’t you? There must be a point to all this, or I’d be asleep in my bed at this moment! I’m being given an opportunity to make amends, Spirit! I can alter the future! Why else must I suffer this torment? There is a reason! It couldn’t be anything else!”

With his own words giving him the needed strength, he forced himself to turn and look at the grave. The fog had caused a mist to settle over the surface of the stone, and he shook his hand to stop it from shaking, then deliberately smeared it across the stone, revealing the name etched under it.

**SEVERUS SNAPE  
1960 - 1998  
ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT**

“No... no... no... NOOOOOOO!”

His anguished moan filled the lonely boneyard, and he fell against the accusatory stone and wept. Hot scalding tears poured out of his tortured heart, and instead of cleansing him, he felt the acid eat away at him.

He pounded his fist over the rough edge of the stone, blindly hoping to substitute one less debilitating pain for the other, but to no avail. He struck out at the stone until his blood mixed with the rain, now coming down around him and mixing with his tears. He kept slamming his fist, again and again, until he dimly became aware it no longer hurt. He gasped, struggling for breath, and realized he was dry.

He turned his head, which felt as though it hadn’t been moved in a very long while, and slowly, slowly, the room around him came into focus. As his breath stopped in his throat, he began to remember...


	6. Stave V: The End of It

STAVE V: The End of It

He became aware of his physical body slowly. Intuitively knowing he’d been completely still for too long, he experimented with moving, a centimetre at a time. He began with his head. Relying mainly on gravity, he turned to the left, groaning audibly at the painful creak of his neck. When he realized he would survive future similar endeavours, he wrenched his head toward the right, and then went through the process again. After nodding from side to side three times, he found he could do it without the ache.

Feeling a bit more optimistic, he wiggled his fingers and toes, then concentrated on moving his hands, feet, arms, and legs. Sitting up could wait, he decided, his recent efforts having depleted his energy. Instead, he opened his eyes, seeing the dim light from someone’s wand light the room only enough to see he wasn’t in hospital, nor the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

And not in his bedchambers.

He licked his dry lips and shifted his hips against the bed coverings. As if his visitor had been waiting for signs of life from him, footsteps approached his bed, and he felt his shoulders being supported as he was lifted to a mostly sitting position. He drank gratefully from the glass put to his lips, and once his thirst was slaked, he took a closer look at his new friend.

Minerva.

“Oh, Severus, you’ve certainly put us through the wringer,” she said, the tears in her voice belying the admonition. “It’s been months since you’ve moved from your own efforts.”

“Where am I?”

At her frown, he realized his voice wasn’t working properly. It must have sounded as rusty to her as it had to himself. He tried again after clearing his throat. “Where am I?”

“You’re in your new bedchamber,” she said. “You’ve missed six months, you know. Six months when none of us knew whether you’d ever come back to us or not. Do you remember anything of the war?”

“I do. I will never forget,” he croaked out. “What day is this?”

“It’s Christmas Eve. Oh, the changes that have happened since the war! When you feel up to it, I’ll try to fill you in on everything. But one thing you must know at once: Voldemort is no more. Harry, bless his heroic heart, had defeated him. The darkness that had shadowed us all these years is history now. Already, the event has been chronicled in the new textbooks.”

“All the vital details skewered by the Ministry, no doubt.”

“Yes, well, these days, debates about what really happened are encouraged instead of squelched. That’s not something we could have said six months ago.”

He took a closer look at her, relieved to see the Minerva he remembered, and not the prematurely aged witch he’d seen in the future. His heart began to lighten, and he threw her a brilliant smile. She lurched back a step, plainly shocked to see it.

“And what has become of Potter?” he asked her as he shifted to sit more comfortably.

“He’s on a speaking tour, by popular demand,” she said, watching his reaction carefully. “We all saw your memories, Severus. He showed them to some of us immediately after Voldemort’s demise. Let me be the first to apologize. It breaks my heart to have learned the truth. I feel horrible for all the extra pain I must have caused you all the year before the war. Not trusting you... Albus had tried to tell us how loyal you were, that he never doubted you...” She broke off to wipe away the tears that began falling down her face.

“Minerva, you must realize that your distrust was vital. If ever you gave any indication that you trusted me, that you were aware I wasn’t really Voldemort’s lackey, my life would have been forfeit.”

“Yes, logically I know that, but how alone you must have felt!”

“Minerva, it was nothing I hadn’t experienced all my life.”

It was a pitiful thing to say. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, and at once felt contrite. He looked up to her quickly, confirming that his words only added to her self-enforced guilt. He rubbed his eyes, trying to think of the right words to say that would make it all better. Then his hand froze as he remembered the dreams he’d had... the hallucinations... or were they?

Had he really been haunted by Albus and the three spirits of Christmas?

He slowly moved his hand to his throat, feeling the puckered scar tissue. Well, he hadn’t imagined Nagini’s attack, anyway. And imagination or not, he had things to do, a life to re-route.

Filled with a new energy, he threw back the duvet and forced his weakened legs to the floor. Looking at Minerva over his shoulder, he shouted gleefully, “My clothes, Minerva! I don’t know how much time I have to take care of things, but I know how much I need to take care of!”

She fussed over him all the while he dressed, even while averting her eyes as he pulled on his trousers. She helped him with his shoes, and he gave her a verbal list of places he wanted her to take him.

As they made their way out of the castle, Severus’ legs finding more energy with each step, his entourage increased to Poppy Pomfrey, who argued all the while that he needed to get back to bed; Hagrid, who picked him up by the collar of his frock coat each time he started slouching; and Rolanda Hooch, who figured Severus waking up was the most exciting thing to have happened since the war.

The first stop was the Weasleys’ Burrow, after Minerva assured him Ginny was still hanging on, if only by a thread. They were met by Arthur at the door, who’d spotted the group heading over from across the yard. He greeted them, congratulating Severus on coming back from the near-dead, but his voice seemed hushed, as if by habit.

“I’d like to see your daughter, Arthur,” Severus requested quietly. “It is my hope that I can help find out what happened, and perhaps lend whatever skills I can to her recovery.”

Arthur blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes, then turned to lead the group into the house. Leaving Severus to find his own way up to Ginny’s room, he turned to ask the others why Severus was being so generous with his time and skills. “I would think his own recovery would be his highest priority,” he finished.

“He would hear none of it,” Minerva said. “He kept going on and on about making up for lost time. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, really.”

“Yeh s’pose his time in a coma had somethin’ to do with his offer?” Hagrid mused aloud.

Molly, meanwhile had come into the kitchen and was bustling about, preparing tea and cakes for her guests. “I won’t get my hopes up,” she said softly. “The Healers and other experts have been at it for all this time... I know Severus is skilled, but...”

“I’m sure we understand, Molly,” Rolanda said kindly. “You’ve been disappointed so many times. But he did seem to have a definite purpose in coming here today. Perhaps something... a dream, maybe...”

“Yes, Molly,” Minerva added. “Almost as soon as he’d come to, he spoke of seeing her, seeing if he could figure out something. And we all know there’s more than a likely chance it has something to do with a Dark Curse. We all know he did things for Voldemort no self-respecting Potions Master would admit to. If a Death Eater had cursed her, Severus is her best chance.”

They all turned to the stairway as Severus’ footsteps descended, holding their collective breath. He entered the kitchen smiling, and at once, Molly began to cry. “You know, don’t you? You know what might help? Please, Severus...”

He, to the surprise of all in the room, including himself, wrapped an encouraging arm around her shoulder. “Molly, there is no doubt in my mind what has befallen Ginevra. I will return at once to my lab; I know which potion to brew. I won’t guarantee success, but I will guarantee no Healer at St. Mungo’s will have tried it. I’ll be back this evening with the potion, and if it works, your daughter will be back to her usual self by morning.”

This was the beginning of the rest of Severus’ life. By morning, Ginny was back to flinging Bat Bogey Hexes at her brothers, her incapacity of the past several months barely remembered. The Ministry had long ago decided, during Severus’ coma, that they need not concern themselves with suspicion over Dumbledore’s death and Severus’ involvement in it.

Severus had been devastated to learn of the deaths of Lupin and Tonks. He knew he’d carry his guilt over his uncaring attitude over their last request to him, but he dedicated several hours of his week to working with those despised Muggle institutions whose function was to help those Muggles in need. With a secret flick of his wand, or the surreptitious infusion of a potion, he managed to help many. It didn’t erase the guilt, but it kept it in check. It was all he could do.

His visit to the Malfoy family resulted in a much more satisfying friendship. Without the Dark Lord to impress and ingratiate themselves to, the relationship between Severus and the Malfoys blossomed, and when a dinner invitation was offered, Severus tended to accept it with heartfelt thanks, and genuinely enjoyed himself. When he felt the pull of his love for Lily, he reminded himself of the lessons her spirit had taught him, as well as the things Hagrid had shown him, and he gradually learned not to dwell on the past.

During his recuperation, Minerva had been appointed Headmistress, and Severus was more than glad to formally relinquish his position, as if he’d never been sacked. He went back to teaching Potions happily, and his current students wouldn’t have believed the horror stories the now graduated, former students might tell them of their experiences with Snape. That couldn’t be the wizard who so patiently walked them through their first potions experiments, and who pointed out errors in their grammar and punctuation in their essays, but didn’t deduct points because of them.

And Minerva never had to ask him to get involved with things like Yule Balls and Halloween feasts. He embraced these opportunities to let loose and have fun, and when pranks were pulled on unsuspecting students in the hallways, it was always an even bet to find out if it were Snape or Peeves who’d done it.

And whenever Severus felt the old stirrings of intolerance, ignorance, and want burning in his heart, he only had to touch his scarred throat to remember the lessons the spirits had taught him on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

Minerva leaned back in her chair, looking at Albus’ portrait. He popped a painted lemon drop into his mouth, smiling at her.

“There’s no call to look so smug, Albus,” she said, chuckling. “You yourself admitted you didn’t know how it would all play out.”

“There would be no game in it if the results could be so accurately predicted,” he told her. “That’s part of the fun. Not knowing how it will end.”

She swiveled her chair to look at the framed, smaller paintings decorating the surface of her desk. Lily’s image winked at her. “I called the results closer than Albus did,” she said, grinning. “Do I know Severus, or do I know Severus?”

“I think we were right to send you in as the Ghost of Christmas Past,” Minerva decided. “You were so cold to him, and the fact that he’s still madly in love with you was bound to make your lessons hit him the hardest. You paved the way for the rest.”

“I tried to go easy on ‘im,” Hagrid put in from his seat in front of Minerva’s desk. “I jus’ don’ have it in me to be cruel.”

“You did just fine, Hagrid,” Minerva soothed. “You got the idea across. And after Lily ripped out his heart, he needed a friendlier shoulder, didn’t he?”

“I still think you should have allowed him to recognize me,” said Tom Riddle from the painting Minerva kept hidden when expecting visitors.

“I think not,” argued Albus. “He would have been unable to follow your lesson plan for fear or depression. You pack quite a punch. Even with your face hidden, he was almost too frightened to pay attention to what you were showing him.”

“Well, I think he can rest assured he’ll not have to carry a chain around with him,” Minerva said, her voice softening. “He’ll not fear death when it’s his time.”

“So,” said Albus, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “What other soul needs saving then?”


End file.
